I would like someday to go to the stars,
to a place where no one has ever gone before.
I would like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.
My aspirations, my hopes, my dreams
are but the icing on the cake of my feeble existence.

I am the rust that corrupts your sink pipes.
I am the pain that surges through your backside.
I am the ick in Ichabod.
I am the yuck in the yucca plant.
I am the alien in alienation.
I am the spice that no one has thyme for…

I am the Ummamum.

“The what?” you ask.
“What in heaven’s name is an Ummamum?”

In all fairness and honesty, I’m not exactly sure. And
frankly, my dear Scarlet, I don’t give a… diddly.
I just enjoy being exactly who I am—an ordinary person
whose brain has degraded to mush.

So as you’re browsing this section, please remember that
I’m only human—if that’s what you call an Ummamum.
If there’s an error in my grammar, spelling or punctuation,
by all means cut me a little slack. Oh, how I’ve tried to
make it perfect! But I know it will never be perfect, because I
am imperfect.

But by George, if there’s an error in my HTML—
you have full permission to crucify me!